


Old Men Blues

by postmoderne



Category: One Piece
Genre: Corny, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Old Men In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmoderne/pseuds/postmoderne
Summary: “Congrats, Marimo. Turning up after months and months and then years of disappearing without a notice. You got lost, idiot swordsman?”, the Cook spits, his hands balled to fists.Ah, Zoro ponders. Cook’s upset.“I got challenged. Took a while. ‘m not getting any younger.”, Zoro replies, trying to sound remorseful. Not very successfully so.Sanji squints his eyes and snorts. “I don’t have time for you, Marimo. Go be annoying somewhere else.”, he hisses and turns back around, fiddles with the desserts again and yells out orders at his staff. Zoro doesn’t leave, stands there, as solid as a rock, wondering about the conversation he just had with the Cook. They’re not teenagers anymore but somehow, they don’t seem to have gotten any better at communicating with each other.*Sanji and Zoro: two ancient fucks (in love).
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 15
Kudos: 244





	Old Men Blues

An old man enters the floating restaurant; his face torn and leathery but still (undeniably) marked by how handsome he must have been in his youth. Upper body free and naked for the world to see, virile and muscular but marred, densely covered with scars – both old and new. The man is the very picture of a (rough’n’tough) pirate, though no black patch is covering where he lacks an eye. The minty green of his hair is all but gone, replaced by a silvery grey. His brow is creased, the wrinkles around his eye(s) deep, the wrinkles around his mouth even deeper. Sun damage, sea salt damage, all due to a life on the oceans. As he slams the doors of the _All Blue Baratie_ open, the lively chatter inside dies out and is replaced by nervous stares directed at the man. He snarls and looks around, fiery eye seizing up the place. (Aura as dangerous and threatening as ever.)

“Cook!”, he calls out.

His three swords clink against each other as he makes his way through the eatery. The guests sitting at the tables around him gasp and begin to blabber. _Is that the swordsman?_ they whisper. _Is that Roronoa Zoro?_

“Where’s the Cook?”, the swordsman shouts at the waiter who comes to greet him with a bow. The young boy, perhaps barely twenty years old, nods and gestures to the old man to follow him. (A skittish little guy, his teeth almost chattering in fear. Blond hair, like…)

“Who’re you?”, Roronoa Zoro asks as the two of them walk across the main dining hall towards, assumedly, the kitchen. The waiter flinches (like some sort of deer or rabbit or some scaredy-cat animal.)

“M-My name is Jean-Baptiste, sir. I am a waiter.”, he says in a voice that must be at least two octaves too high.

“Ah. Since when?”

“Since when am I a waiter?”, Jean-Baptiste glances at the intimidating man next to him. He gets a growl as an answer. Another flinch.

“I’ve been here for three and a half years now, sir. Chef Blackleg is very kind and generous, he…”

“Yeah, yeah.”, Roronoa Zoro waves a hand. “So, it’s been that long, huh. You know who I am?”

“Yes, sir. Chef Blackleg tells us about you and—” it’s not as if a man such as Roronoa Zoro could or would not be recognized by everyone. The Strawhat Crew exists no longer as such but the greatest swordsman? The second highest bounty to ever exist? Hard to miss. Hard to forget.

Roronoa interrupts Jean-Baptiste with a booming laugh. “He talks about me, aye?”

The boy nods diligently and stops at a wooden door. They’ve arrived at the first-floor kitchen, the biggest on the ship.

“Chef Blackleg is in there, sir. Thank you for visiting the All Blue Baratie Floating Restaurant.”, the young boy tells the old man, bows and leaves. (Hurries… runs away.) Roronoa Zoro huffs.

*

The Cook is standing at a counter on the left side of the kitchen, from Zoro’s perspective, working, cooking.

He’s still mostly blond, Zoro muses. His white hair blending in neatly with the golden strands. It’s longer, too, ending just above his shoulders. His brows still curl the same ridiculous way as ever, maybe even more so. The Cook is not as pretty as he used to be – still, his skin is fair, having experienced far less sun damage than Zoro’s own. Which makes sense, as he’s a cook working in a kitchen (most of the time). His goatee is longer, or, not much of a goatee at all anymore. It’s more of a long dark braid, just shy of reaching his collar bones. The Cook’s hands – ah. Zoro stares at his arms, hands, how they move, faultless, steady, elegant. Gentle, as he places leafy stuff on a dessert. His legs – long as ever, as strong and densely muscled as ever. Maybe he still is pretty, after all, Zoro thinks and takes slow steps closer. He wonders how the Cook has not yet noticed him, deeming that to be impossible. The idiot’s ignoring Zoro, isn’t he?

“Cook.”, Zoro says.

Apparently, that is not worth a reaction. The Cook continues preparing his stupid pudding dessert thing. The swordsman frowns.

“Cook, I’m back.”, the tries again.

The kitchen staff around them is busy but every single one of them manages to avoid bumping into the swordsman. Zoro thinks he recognizes some of the faces bustling around the kitchen, carrying plates, both empty and full. It’s loud in the caboose but not loud enough. The Cook must have heard him (except if he got hard of hearing over the years, which Zoro doubts). He steps even closer, anger pooling at the bottom of his stomach. At least Zoro thinks it’s anger. Must be anger, it’s the Cook being a brat still at the wise old age of fifty-five.

“Sanji.”, he uses the Cook’s name and finally – the other man turns around and looks straight into his eyes, fire burning bright in those baby blues. Zoro has always liked the Cook’s eyes, an ocean in an ocean.

“Congrats, Marimo. Turning up after months and months and then years of disappearing without a notice. You got lost, idiot swordsman?”, the Cook spits, his hands balled to fists.

_Ah_ , Zoro ponders. _Cook’s_ _upset_.

“I got challenged. Took a while. ‘m not getting any younger.”, Zoro replies, trying to sound remorseful. Not very successfully so.

Sanji squints his eyes and snorts. “I don’t have time for you, Marimo. Go be annoying somewhere else.”, he hisses and turns back around, fiddles with the desserts again and yells out orders at his staff. Zoro doesn’t leave, stands there, as solid as a rock, wondering about the conversation he just had with the Cook. They’re not teenagers anymore but somehow, they don’t seem to have gotten any better at communicating with each other.

There really are things that have not changed. Sanji’s still as prissy as he has always been and Zoro… still as stubborn. Still as infatuated.

So, the swordsman makes a decision. He grabs the Cook by his waist (ah, still slender) and hauls him over his shoulder, capturing his legs in a death grip. “I’m kidnapping your Cook for a moment.”, he shouts at the crew and instead of defending Sanji, they just glance up lazily and shrug. One of them even wishes Zoro good luck.

Zoro knows the Cook could easily overpower him but for some reason, he lets himself be carried away from the kitchen, all while cursing like a sailor. _Stupid, silly, idiotic. Pea brain. Marimo. Moss head. Old, senile, egoistical. Plants for brains. Algae_.

Nothing Zoro hasn’t heard before.

*

Roronoa Zoro isn’t sure where they are on the ship but it must be some sort of relaxing deck. It’s secluded, that’s all that matters. He puts the Cook down on one of the loungers that stand around and the Cook instantly crosses his arms in front of his chest, like a little petulant child. The swordsman sits down next to him and looks at his former nakama, who explicitly does not look at Zoro but instead stares at the setting sun. Some senior citizen he is.

“Gotten heavy over the years.”, Zoro grins and watches the Cook’s shoulders stiffen.

“But not softer around the tummy.”, the swordsman continues. The Cook’s shaky fingers reach for his pocket. Good old cigarettes. He doesn’t say a word.

“I like the beard braid, by the way.”, Zoro says.

The Cook smokes, continues to keep his usually potty mouth closed.

“I’m sorry.”

That does it, Sanji turns to him and glares daggers at Zoro.

“Bastard! We’re too old for this! I’m too old for this!”, Sanji grits through his teeth. “I’ve not gotten to live to this age for you to—”

Zoro leans in and presses a soft kiss to the Cook’s lips. Sanji shoves him away but doesn’t go for a kick to the swordsman’s face. He throws his cigarette over board.

“You old pervert! You old, egoistical… no-good…!”

“I was afraid.”, Zoro whispers.

The Cook stares at him with big eyes.

“I was afraid that when I came back after having been gone for so long that… I would come back to you having someone. To you finally having decided that you want a wife and get married.”, the swordsman admits. “I didn’t want to be… in the way.”

Vulnerable.

“You stupid… why would I… in my mid-fifties? After having what I thought was a relationship with an idiotic asshole for decades now?! I’m going to murder you, you fucking bastard!”, Sanji yells, the color of his face slowly changing to red.

They’re both too proud for their own good.

“It’s not as if this thought is so absurd! You’re still very attractive and I’m sure the women and… men.”, Zoro swallows, “Would…”

“But I wouldn’t! Because I lo—“, Sanji stops in his tracks.

Has he said it before? All those years ago? Back when they had freshly left the Sunny after having found the One Piece… after having found the All Blue. They were both too proud and stubborn to put any label on what they were. They were just the swordsman and the cook. They were kisses in the dark and fingers on hot skin. They were loud fights and quiet nights in the prime of their youth.

A youth long gone.

Zoro had helped with building the All Blue Baratie, had lived there for a time but soon it wasn’t enough for him anymore. He was a pirate, a fighter and he needed to seek new adventures. This, Sanji understood, naturally, and Zoro would always come back – but over time, those returns had become less and less frequent.

“Me too.”, Zoro whispers.

Sanji stares at him.

“I’m back, Sanji”, the swordsman repeats his words from earlier. “I want to stay. I want to come home.”

“Alright.”, is all the Cook replies, voice weak and wary.

Zoro reaches out to the other man and pulls him into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

*

Zoro stays. He stays and doesn’t leave.

Zoro stays and bullies Sanji’s personnel, especially Jean-Baptiste, who Zoro has decided is his second most favorite person to bother because in the swordsman’s mind, the kid looks just like the Cook. He’s blond and his eyes are almost blue and he’s a skinny fella with knobby knees, much like Sanji in his youth.

“Waiter!”, he shouts and Jean-Baptiste comes running like a little puppy.

“Yes, sir?”, the boy inquires and bows, still scared of the brutish swordsman.

“Tell the Cook I wanna—” but before Zoro can finish his sentence, a shoe slams against his head and knocks him down. The shoe belongs to none other than Chef Blackleg, of course.

“Jean, don’t follow this idiot’s every order. If he wants something, he can go get it himself.”, Sanji tells the kid and pats his shoulder. Jean-Baptiste blushes and nods.

“Cook, I wanna kiss.”, the swordsman groans from where he’s laying on the ground. He lifts his arms and tries to touch Sanji’s legs and preferably butt without having to get up. He’s gotten too comfortable ever since his return to the All Blue Baratie, groping his lover at every given possibility. Sanji kicks him again and sighs dramatically.

“Maybe I should have gotten a wife, after all. You’re so damn annoying, Marimo.”

“You don’t mean that! You’ve confessed your love to me, shitty Cook!”, Zoro argues and finally sits up, his back cracking. “Oh my.”

“Ancient fuck.”, Sanji cackles.

“Swirly brow.”

“Moss brains.”

“Sir, may I leave?”, Jean-Baptiste interrupts their insults match.

“Of course. The tables need waiting.”, the Cook says and with a bow, Jean-Baptiste bids his goodbyes and rushes down the hallway.

Sanji glances down at the old swordsman. “Leave the boy alone, Zoro.”

“Yes, yes.”, Zoro mutters and leans against the Cook’s legs. “It’s just that he reminds me of you and you’re so damn busy all the time, which makes me feel lonely.”

Sanji’s hands find the crook of Zoro’s neck, his long fingers running through the short hair there. “I see… hmm.”, he says thoughtfully. “It is about time I think about retiring, don’t you think? Not completely but… taking a step back. Economizing. How does that sound?”

Zoro cranes his neck back to look at his lover, a smile stretching across his face, wrinkles deep. “Sounds good.”

Sanji hums. “You still want that kiss?”

Zoro grins.

*

**Author's Note:**

> This is what it is. I must work on the part where I just absolutely hate every word I've written and just... you know. Like, I'm doing this for me. It doesn't have to be good. And I don't think it is. I like the idea of writing a fic about them being old but this isn't the fic I've envisioned. I couldn't decide on a tone or mood or style or anything but I banged this out and y'all gonna have to deal with it because I did this for me. I tell myself, rambling, ranting. Anyway... thanks for reading!


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